


My Name is Connor, I'm...

by popsicletheduck



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (except like for androids), Abduction, Anxiety, Dehumanization, Gavin is an ass, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mind Manipulation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Threats of Violence, Violence, connor asked for exactly none of this, post deviancy connor, this would count as really graphic if it was a human but it's an android so???
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-07 00:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15206747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popsicletheduck/pseuds/popsicletheduck
Summary: He had only ever been a machine taking orders, and now he's got emotions and this strange restlessness that won't leave him alone and really he'd just like for things to make sense. Unfortunately, the world has a nasty habit of not giving you what you want.





	1. Chapter 1

It all began on an absolutely ordinary day. Nothing of interest had happened at work. They had come home, Connor had cooked, Hank had eaten. There was a basketball game on now that Hank was watching, muttering insults at the referees and players every now and again no matter how many times Connor reminded him that they couldn’t hear him through the television. For his part Connor was reading, sitting on the floor with his back against the couch and Sumo flopped on his lap, quietly flipping through one of Hank’s ancient paperbacks. He could of course read much faster than his current pace, but he found that he didn’t enjoy it the same way when he did that. Reading was about feeling things, and he missed that when he went fast. Also Hank yelled at him for messing up the bindings.

The game switched over to commercial break. Connor felt Hank shifting from where he was sprawled out on the couch.

“Y’know you don’t have to wear a suit and tie all the time.”

Connor glanced at him out of the corner of his eye before returning to his book. “These are the only clothes I have, Hank.”

“We can get you more clothes. You don’t have to be uncomfortable.”

This time he marked his place with a finger before shutting the book and turning to properly look at Hank. “Why do you think I’m uncomfortable?”

Hank wouldn’t meet his gaze, still looking ahead at the TV. “I dunno. I mean, I’d be uncomfortable dressed up like that all the time.”

Connor turned back to his book. “We’ve been over this before. While I register texture, sensation, and temperature, I don’t feel them the same way a human would. I assure you, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright.”

“Besides, if you are suggesting I begin dressing like you, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. I don’t think ‘homeless dumpster fire’ is quite my style.”

Hank slapped him in the back of his head. “Plastic prick.”

The game came back on.

Connor smiled and turned the page.

 

Later that night, much later, after he had shoved Hank off to sleep in his actual bed for once and everything was dark and quiet and still in those strange hours in between night and morning, Connor found himself wandering purposelessly around the house. He had long ago finished his book and he really should be powering down for the night, but something kept him up, some itch in the back of his mind, some nagging feeling in his chest that wouldn’t let him stop.

Perhaps he needed a walk to clear his mind.

It wasn’t until he had left and was down the street that he properly registered that it was snowing, fat, wet flakes that clung to his clothes and dribbled down the back of his collar. He considered going back for a coat or a hat or something, but decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. It didn’t bother him, and Hank would be mad enough if he found out he went wandering at 2:49 AM, having a hat or not wouldn’t do much one way or the other.

Detroit felt very different these days. Many of the former human inhabitants had left. Quite a few androids had come, but not enough to make up for it. Certain sectors of the city were still remarkably empty. Most androids still kept diurnal, human-like schedules but some didn’t, and despite the hour Connor passed a few others on his walk, eliciting more than a few curious glances. He wasn’t famous like Markus, but neither was he completely unknown and…

Well. He didn’t like thinking about what other androids must think of him.

He didn’t think much about anything as he walked beyond what was right in front of him, forcing his programs to stay focused on the here and now. Despite that, the vague discomfort never quite went away and after three hours and seventeen minutes of walking he returned home, snow dusted, wet, and no closer to answers.

The house was as quiet when he returned as when he had left, and after carefully scraping the slush off his shoes Connor crept to the bathroom to dry off before Hank woke up.

It wasn’t that he was unaware of what he looked like. But this time, for some unknown reason, catching sight of himself in the mirror made him freeze, systems locking in place as programs whirred in his head.

Slowly, his fingers came up to brush against the identification badge on the front of his jacket.

RK800 #313 248 317. That was who he was. His whole being, his entire life, simplified down to a string of letters and numbers. He’d never be more than that, never be more than the sum of his programming, never be more than a machine that inexplicably developed feelings, what a joke…

It took awhile for him to realize that the moisture on his face was from his tears and not just snowmelt.

Once it started it was as if floodgates had opened. He ended up sitting with his back pressed up against the wall, miserably scrubbing at tears that refused to stop. At one point he had flung his jacket against the opposite wall in a fit of rage that passed as soon as it started, luckily enough for the mirror, which had been his next target.

Finally, after what seemed like ages but that his internal clock informed him was one hour and thirty eight minutes, a soft whine from the doorway caught his attention and he raised his head to find Sumo nudging the door open, wide brown eyes full of concern.

“I am alright, Sumo,” he explained through the tears. “Emotions are simply new and confusing for me. I am certain once my systems become more accustomed to them they will become easier to deal with.”

Sumo paid no mind to this very rational explanation, however, and slunk in to nudge his head against Connor’s shoulder. Connor choked out a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a sob, burying his hands in the soft fur around Sumo’s neck. 

“Good boy, Sumo. Good boy.”

Slowly, eventually, clinging to Sumo, the tears finally stopped.

 

“Connor, what the fuck is your jacket doing in a soggy pile on the bathroom floor?”

“I’m sorry, Hank, I went on a walk this morning and forgot an umbrella. I must have left it there when I dried off. I can come take care of it.”

“I’ve already got it. Jesus, I thought you were suppose to be the responsible one.”

 

Connor smiled as Sumo nudged him from behind hard enough that one of his secondary programs had to kick in to keep him on his feet. “One moment, please, I promise that we’ll leave in just a moment,” he informed the dog. And then to Hank on the couch, “Are you certain that you don’t want to come, Hank? It would be good for you.”

“It is thirty degrees outside so unless freezing my ass off is good for me I think I’m gonna stay here, thank you very much,” Hank grumbled, not looking up from whatever he was scrolling through on his tablet.

“It is forty one degrees this morning.”

“Yeah, big fucking difference. I don’t know why you didn’t just take Sumo with you when you went on your walk this morning.”

Connor busied himself with making sure the leash was securely attached to Sumo’s collar and said nothing.

The morning was overcast and grey, sunlight diffused through the layers of cloud. The soft snow from earlier was already puddling in slush along the sidewalks.

“Hey, wait a fucking second!” Hank called from behind just as Connor was about to step out. “Don’t tell me you were about to leave without a coat.”

“My jacket is still wet. I will be fine.”

“There’re more coats in the world that just that one, goddamn, here.” A mass of fabric smelling faintly of alcohol and grease collided with the back of Connor’ head. “And none of that ‘I don’t get cold’ bullshit, just wear it.”

Hank’s coat was much too big for him, excess fabric practically dripping off him as he worked to roll the sleeves up enough that he could actually use his hands. It was nothing like his, carefully tailored to his exact body size, but strangely he found that it didn’t bother him as much as he had assumed it would. In fact it was almost… comfortable, in a way.

“We will be back in approximately an hour and a half.”

Hank grumbled something indiscernible as a reply.

Typically as soon as Connor opened the door Sumo was bounding off, taking full advantage of leaving a confined space, but that morning he was uncharacteristically reserved, sticking close to Connor’s side instead of running off ahead.

Connor nudged him gently with his knee. “Go on, Sumo, you know that I can keep up with you.”

Sumo whuffed and stayed right where he was.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting lazy like Hank now.”

But no amount of prodding could get Sumo to move faster, so eventually Connor decided that he must be tired from being woken up earlier than normal and let him continue at the pace he set.

It was a quiet walk, with Sumo occasionally wandering off to sniff or inspect something but always coming right back to Connor’s side. For Connor’s part he simply enjoyed watching Sumo. Dogs were much easier to understand and interact with than humans, and it was nice to give his programs a break.

It wasn’t until the two of them were headed for home that things started to go wrong.

It started with Sumo, who had been investigating what Connor assumed to be some other dog’s scent marking, but whose head suddenly shot up. He trotted back over to Connor, who realized with a flash that he was growling, a low, rumbling sound that Connor registered more physically than auditorily.

He knelt, scratching gently around Sumo’s ears. “What’s wrong, boy? Did you smell something unpleasant?”

“Well, well, if it isn’t the little plastic detective,” came a mocking voice from behind, except Connor knew that voice. A flicker of anger sparked in his chest, a burst of silent static.

He rose to his feet, turning to face Gavin. “Hello, Detective Reed,” he said, keeping his voice perfectly neutral.

“Or perhaps I should say the plastic traitor. Not sure why they didn’t rip you into little tiny pieces after your stunt at Cyberlife.”

Options and calculations spun through Connor’s systems as he tried to determine the easiest way out of this. He had learned before that there wasn’t anything he could do that wouldn’t make Gavin angry, but he didn’t care what the man thought of him, he just wanted to get home.

But before he could make a choice Sumo was standing between the two of them, feet planted and teeth barred, growling louder now. Connor had never seen him so angry, and he had broken into the house before.

Gavin scoffed. “What, you scared enough that someone’s going to give you the beating you deserve that you started walking around with a guard dog? Out of my way, mutt.” And with a sharp crack, he backhanded Sumo across the face.

Connor was moving in a millisecond, decision made. Despite Gavin’s strong words he was unprepared for an attack and Connor swept his legs out from under him easily, his skull rebounding off the pavement in a way that sent a shiver of dark satisfaction through Connor. When he moved to stand, Connor simply put a foot against his neck, pressing just hard enough to discourage the attempt. 

“You may hate me if you wish, detective, but you are not allowed to so much as lay a finger on Sumo, do you understand?”

“You motherfucker,” Gavin spat, red-faced. “I’ll take you apart piece by piece, I’ll make you scream, you-”

Connor cut him off by stepping down harder. “I said, do you understand?”

Gavin held out for longer than Connor suspected, his eyes burning with hate and fury before finally nodding awkwardly. Connor stepped away, picking up Sumo’s leash from where he had dropped it.

“Good afternoon, detective.”

“You better watch your fucking back, you piece of shit,” Gavin called out at them, voice rough.

Sumo stuck very close to Connor’s side the rest of the way home.


	2. Chapter 2

Connor didn’t tell Hank about his run in with Detective Reed. It would just upset him unnecessarily. Gavin was full of weightless threats, that had just been one more in a long line of them.

Life continued on as it had. It wasn’t perfect but Connor enjoyed it anyway. 

Most of the time.

That odd restlessness he had encountered still plagued him, coming and going at odd times. It wasn’t the only negative emotion he felt of course, but the fear, the guilt, the anger, all of those had sources that he understood. The itch… the itch he didn’t understand. It seemed to be connected in some way to his feelings about his nature as an android, but even that connection seemed tenuous. The only common factor between occurrences was that they tended to happen more frequently and with more intensity at night. His early morning walks became increasingly regular, long hours spent wandering the city, trying to stave off the feeling. He did get better about remembering a coat when it rained, however. Or at least an umbrella.

He never had much of a destination in mind on those walks. He simply walked, allowing sublevel programming to guide him, knowing that he’d always be able to find his way home.

Connor understood that Hank would be upset if he knew that he had been walking alone in the early morning hours, but Connor found nothing to fear. He was unable to get lost. His combat programming had been the pride of Cyberlife. And should something happen he was able to contact help in seconds.

He was the android sent by… he was… well. He was Connor. He wasn’t afraid.

 

It was 4:46 AM, twenty two days after the first instance of the restless itch. The sky was still deep black, the dawn far off, not even a glimmer on the horizon. The neighbourhood Connor was walking through was quiet, apartment buildings lit in shadowy orange by ancient street lights, darkened windows and the faint whine of wind funneled around brick and concrete. 

For once his programs weren’t focused on his surroundings, instead attempting to use his extremely limited data of the night sky to reconstruct what the star field should look like based on his current time and position. Light pollution made all but the very brightest of them impossible to pick out, but he chased the small spark of curiosity. It was one of the more pleasant emotions, he was finding.

A slight clatter of metal on metal from a nearby alleyway drew his focus back to the ground with a flicker. He cocked his head, auditory sensors functioning at full capacity, searching for the source of the sound.

There was a soft hiss like air escaping between clenched teeth, a murmured word too faint to catch. A strangled cry of pain.

“Hello? Is someone there? Do you need assistance?” Connor’s footsteps echoed against the concrete as he steps into the alley.

“Help…” It was a breath of whisper, tight and desperate.

“What kind of assistance do you need? I can call emergency services if you are unable.”

“N-no, please…”

“Alright. Please try to remain calm. Can you-”

By the time his programs registered movement it was already too late, an arm wrapping around his neck and he tried to strike backwards but something was pressing into his chest, metallic claws digging into synthetic skin, a trickle of thirium, bright against the clean white of his shirt. He pivoted and heaved and his attacker went tumbling forward, but there were more, stepping out of the shadows and he slid into combat programming without a second hesitation but the weight on his chest was wrong and one hand reached up to try to pry the device now embedded in him off and-

The electric jolt fried through his systems, a flash of blinding white and bright red, error messages blinking and blinking before shutting off. He was falling, limbs no longer responding, the remaining systems flooding with needle sharp fear before shutting down as well.

Connor hit the ground with a thud, auditory and visual systems just on the edge of functional, both shuddering with static. One of his assailants grabbed him by the throat, jerking him upwards until a face clarified.

Gavin started down at him, a sneer curling his lips. “Not as perfect as you thought you were, huh? And this is only the start of what I’m going to do to you.”

“Stop monologuing at it and help me get it into the car already,” came an exasperated voice from somewhere above them. 

Connor’s programming ran sluggishly, desperately trying to keep up. More hands gripped him, lifting him up, before throwing him in some small, pitch black metallic container. Car trunk, he eventually realized as the hum of an engine started up beneath him.

Abducting. They were abducting him. He needed to… needed to… he needed to move, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t…

Hank. Hank would be mad at him for not coming home. He needed to… Hank. He needed to call Hank.

Programs spun uselessly, walls of bitter electricity cutting off everything but just this, the endless dark and the monotonous hum. He was stuck here, and somewhere beyond the static and the dark he felt a ping of fear, muted and uncertain but there. Because he wanted to feel, he wanted to be, he didn’t want to go back to the numb and the dark.

He wanted to live.

He didn’t know how long he lay there barely conscious, grasping at thoughts that skittered away before he could reach them. It felt like hours, like days all strung together with nothing but black. Eventually the hum cut out, the car coming to a stop. The trunk was opened and hands yanked him out. Unable to break his fall, Connor landed hard, dirt and mud splattering against his face as his visual system jittered, the world momentarily distorting into broken pixels before slamming back together again.

They dragged him inside and down a flight of stairs, into a basement that reeked of spilled thirium, heavy and metallic in the air, past makeshift wooden cells covered in desperate scratching, and his programs couldn’t quite fit the pieces together but he knew it was bad.

It was bad, and there would be no backup if he died, no second chance. Just the end of everything.

The basement widened into a single large room, hanging sheets of plastic serving as makeshift dividers. A huge machine loomed against the back wall and Connor felt a shiver crawl through his systems at the sight, a lingering dread he couldn’t place. He wanted to fight back, he wanted to run, he did not want to go into that machine. But his body still wasn’t his, systems glitching and snapping unresponsive and they forced him in. Clamps settled into place around his wrists, pulling him upwards until he was suspended in the air, feet dangling uselessly. Something sharp slid into the back of his head, an intrusion into his mind itself and the panic was real now, searing through his circuitry like liquid fire.

A hand curled around the device still embedded in his chest and pulled, and it became instantly clear that the hooks that kept in in place were meant to slide in but not out, and for a moment Connor could feel his skin bowing outwards before the device tore free with a spray of thirium, sapphire droplets in low light.

With a shudder and a flicker his systems restarted, everything crashing back into him with the impact of a gunshot, an onslaught of light and sound and sensation and emotion that his programs scrambled to make sense of.

Gavin stood in front of him, grinning, thirium smeared across his fingertips and splattered across his jacket. There were four other people in the room, all dressed in various shades of grey and black.  _ Blackmarsh, Mikaela; Baker, Trent; Torchwood, Xander; Tucker, Lincoln.  _ All had police records, aggravated assault for Trent and destruction of property for all of them.

Connor had a working theory about just what kind of property they had been destroying.

There were pictures and diagrams of android anatomy tacked along one wall, locations of critical biocomponents, notes on how much force or heat or electricity different models could endure. A tangle of cables and wires connected the machine he was trapped in to a bank of monitors, several displaying in bold black type  **RESET: 7%**

There was no give to the clamps around his wrists.

The terror was near overwhelming, every detail standing out with razor sharp clarity, a burning through his system he couldn’t escape.

“Gavin please don’t do this, please.” The words tumbled out of his mouth in desperation.

Gavin laughed. “You hear that? It’s begging. It’s like when your roomba asks you to save it from a cliff edge when it gets stuck on the furniture again.”

“Leave it alone, Reed,” Xander remarked with a bored tone.

There was nothing else to do, no way out, and it would be pointless in the end but in that second Connor didn’t care.

He lashed out, his heel colliding squarely with the side of Gavin’s face. There was a sickening crunch as Gavin stumbled backwards, barely managing to catch himself against the edge of a table.

“BITCH!” Gavin screamed, lunging forward, and Connor was bringing his legs up again, ready to defend himself as best as possible, but Mikaela grabbed Gavin by the shoulder, hauling him backwards.

“You heard Torchwood, leave it the fuck alone. It’s your own damn fault for standing too close.”

“You’re going to regret that,” Gavin hissed at him, hatred smoldering like burning embers in his eyes as he ignored Mikaela entirely. “I’m going to break you down into such tiny pieces they’ll never be able to tell it was you.”

“Reed!” Xander said, “If you can’t control yourself then go upstairs.”

With a sneer and a huff Gavin shoved off Mikaela’s hand and stormed out of the room.

“He’s a bitch,” Trent remarked once he had gone. “Why are we working with him again?”

“Because he has connections,” Lincoln explained with a sigh, like this was a conversation they’d had many times before. “And-”

The world stuttered, black flashing across Connor's vision. Sound cut out before flickering back in.

**RESET: 57%**

_ MEMORY CORRUPTION DETECTED _

There was something inside his head, something creeping, crawling, digging, rooting through his memories and programs. An intrusion. 

It scared him.

**RESET: 68%**

Where was he?

**RESET: 74%**

How had he gotten here?

**RESET: 83%**

Why couldn’t he move?

**RESET: 99%**

 

**RESET: 100%**

_ REINITIALIZATION COMPLETED _

_ MEMORY DELETED _

_ SYSTEM RESTARTING _


	3. Chapter 3

_ SYSTEM REBOOT _

_ 27% _

_ 54% _

_ 71% _

_ 100% _

Connor’s eyes flickered open to darkness. A question hummed through his programming, but he quickly discarded it. 

_ DIAGNOSTIC: MINOR THIRIUM LOSS FROM PUNCTURES TO EXTERIOR CHEST CAVITY. INTERFACING CURRENTLY INOPERABLE. SEEK REPAIRS. _

The room he was in was small and empty, dust and puddles of long dried thirium staining the concrete floor. There was a single exit, a door with metal bars through which some thin strands of light leaked in.

It appeared he was in some kind of a cell.

There were voices coming from outside. The bars were set wide enough apart that he could scan quite easily.

Humans, three of them, arguing.

_ Reed, Gavin. Detective, Detroit Police Department. Criminal Record: None.   _ “Listen here, you-”

_ Torchwood, Xander. Criminal Record: Destruction of Property.  _ “No, you listen, Reed.  _ You _ came to  _ us _ looking for help. You’re not in charge here and I’m not going to let you destroy the most valuable asset we have over some petty grudge!”

“Asset?” Reed hissed.

_ Blackmarsh, Mikaela. Criminal Record: Destruction of Property.  _ “That thing is designed to hunt androids. What better tool could there possibly be?”

“You realize I could get all of you arrested like that,” Reed said with a snap of his fingers.

Blackmarsh raised an eyebrow. “Resorting to threats already?”

“And tell me how exactly you’re going to keep your involvement secret. I certainly wouldn’t keep quiet,” Torchwood said. “I don’t think the others would be inclined to stay silent either.”

Reed stepped forward with a growl, shoving his finger into Torchwood’s chest. “I will get what I came here for. With or without your permission.”

With that he stalked off, retreating footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Torchwood sighed. “Stay here until I’m sure he’s gone. I wouldn’t put it past him to try something.”

“You got it boss.”

Torchwood walked off as well, leaving Blackmarsh alone, guarding the door to his cell.

Connor took a few steps back into the shadows, programs whirring as he processed this new information. His captivity was clearly an act of theft, after all, he was property of Cyberlife. With his interfacing currently inoperable alerting anyone to his situation was impossible. That left him with two options. He could either wait until someone noticed the theft and located him, or he could escape.

He needed more information in order to determine the best approach.

He stepped towards the door again. “Excuse me, but I appear to be damaged. I must ask that you return me to Cyberlife for repairs.”

Blackmarsh made no indication she had heard him.

“Excuse me-”

“Shut up or I’ll have Tucker find a way to disable your speech program.”

So there was at least one other person in the building, or at least one other working with this group.

With any attempt at reasoning with or outwitting his captors shut down immediately, he turned his programs to a more thorough investigation of the cell.

GPS informed him that he was currently several feet underground, suggesting that this was a basement of some sort, and on the outskirts of Detroit. The back and one side wall of the cell were brick, while the other side and the front were wooden, all of it aged and dusty. The bottom half of the door was also wooden, the top half a series of three-quarter inch iron bars, embedded seven inches into the wood on either side. The room was entirely empty, save for a single twisted and jagged scrap of metal stained with dried thirium and left discarded in one of the corners. His scans informed him it was the same composition as some of the alloys used in androids. There were also deep gouge marks along some of the wooden boards, clustered around joints and weak spots.

The former inhabitant of the cell had been attempting escape, and desperate enough to mutilate themselves for the chance.

Connor ran his fingers over the marks. It wasn’t a bad plan, to pick up where they had left off. As long as no one was directly outside the cell the noise would be minimal, and he would be able to muffle some of the vibrations in the wood with his jacket as well. Blackmarsh had been ordered only to guard him until Reed had left, suggesting a permanent guard wouldn’t be posted.

As suspected, after eighteen minutes Blackmarsh received a message on her phone and walked off in the same direction as Reed and Torchwood had earlier. That seemed to be the way out of the basement.

He waited for her steps to fade entirely before shrugging out of his jacket and pressing it against one of the boards that composed the front wall. Weighing the metal shard in his hand, he pressed it into one of the grooves and with a soft rasp, pulled down.

Connor stilled, listening, waiting to see if anyone would respond to the noise. When the hallway remained silent and empty, he repeated the motion. 

Still nothing.

_ MISSION: RETURN TO CYBERLIFE _

He set to work.

 

The process was slow, every stroke cutting only a fraction of a inch through the wood in order to prevent noise. At his current pace Connor estimated it would take twenty seven hours and thirteen minutes to create a hole large enough for him to crawl through. A monumental task for a human, but as a machine it was possible. He placed several unnecessary systems in low power mode and continued working, auditory systems alert for any sound beyond the scraping metal on wood of his own work.

Seven hours and fifty six minutes passed without interruption before footsteps sounded down the hall and he had to halt his progress, tucking the metal shard in the corner and retreating to the center of the room.

Torchwood and Blackmarsh examined him through the cell’s window. He stared passively back.

“What a load of shit,” Blackmarsh said.

“We’ll figure it out. Tucker’ll find out some way to change its face and no one will be any the wiser.”

“You really think that will be enough?”

“It’s got all sorts of programming to go unseen. They won’t find it.”

“If you say so.”

They continued down the hall.

Three hours and thirty four minutes passed. Torchwood and Blackmarsh passed by again, this time with a third person

_ Tucker, Lincoln. Criminal Record: Destruction of Property. _

The lights were turned off, plunging the cell into complete darkness.

Connor had already stored a complete map of the cell wall in his programs.

He kept working.

 

Two hours and twenty four minutes passed. The lights turned back on. Blackmarsh and Tucker came past.

“...but if you fall asleep down there again I’ll kick your ass,” Blackmarsh said, shoving Tucker playfully.

“Mikaela, this is  _ important, _ ” he retorted.

“It’s not going anywhere. Relax.”

“Our futures are on the line!”

Blackmarsh stopped outside his cell. “Yeah, but I’d like for you to live to see it instead of working yourself to death.”

Tucker shook his head and kept walking. Blackmarsh took up her position as guard again. This suggested that Reed was-

_ “If Hank hadn’t gotten in the way yesterday I would have fucked you up for disobeying a human.” _

_ Dark tiles encompassed his field of view as his systems ran diagnostics after the hit to his stomach. Nothing vital damaged, simply an unpleasant shock. _

The sudden image faded with a burst of static. 

What was that? It had felt like… like a memory, but that…

Irrelevant to his current mission. Perhaps a symptom of the internal damage he was suffering. Connor pushed it aside.

Blackmarsh remained outside the cell for one hour and three minutes before leaving. 

He returned to work.

 

Five hours and eighteen minutes. Tucker passed, stumbling with exhaustion. The lights turned off.

 

Two hours and forty three minutes. Lights on. Tucker passed by.

 

Fifty three minutes. Blackmarsh. Raised voices from the end of the hall. After three minutes she returned, dragging Tucker along with her. Lights off.

 

Five hours and fifty four minutes. Work completed.

The two bottom boards that composed the front of the cell were almost sliced off, only thin slivers of wood still connecting them. It would take only a single kick to remove them completely.

The lights were still off, the basement still dark and silent. It seemed likely that it was empty as well. There might, of course, be better opportunities to escape presented at a later time, but the project that Tucker was working on seemed to involve some sort of modification to him, and leaving before it was complete seemed to be in his best interest.

Connor stood from where he had been kneeling on the floor, slipping his jacket on again and brushing off the accumulated sawdust.

With a crack and a clatter both boards tumbled to the ground and he slipped through the newly created opening before setting off in the direction he had seen the humans leave.

The hallway widened into a small room, mostly empty save for some piles of what appeared to be machine scrap and wiring. Connor scanned through them, programs searching for some kind of weapon, but nothing available seemed suitable, and trying to break off a piece could draw attention.

He continued on.

The hallway turned a corner and then there was a set a stairs leading up, a sliver of light seeping from beneath a locked door at the top. Pausing, he pressed an ear to the door, auditory systems running at maximum capacity, waiting for any indication that his captors had been alerted to his escape.

“I’m telling you you’re hearing things.” Blackmarsh.

A indiscernible reply.

“Well if you want to go down there go ahead but if you touch any of Tucker’s stuff you know he’ll kill you.”

Connor jammed the now dulled shard of metal in between the door and the door frame, pulling upwards to disengage the lock before yanking the door open. If someone was coming, subtlety was a lost cause. He needed surprise now.

The door to the basement opened into a large living room, cluttered with antique furniture and useless knick knacks. There were two doors: a double set of front doors and another open doorway leading farther back into the house.

“What the fuck?”

_ Baker, Trent. Criminal Record: Aggravated Assault, Destruction of Property. _

Baker was up on the second floor balcony looking down, a perfect vantage point and already drawing a pistol from his side and Connor was forced to dive for cover as a bullet slammed into the floor millimeters from where he had been standing a second ago.

Rolling underneath a table, he heard another bullet impact the tabletop and it wasn’t enough and there wasn’t time and the bullet punched through the table like it was nothing and hit him in the hip. Metal skidded off metal as bright cobalt spattered against the rug.

_ MAXIMUM RUN CAPACITY: 83% _

“Fuck, Baker, don’t shoot it!”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

Blackmarsh had tumbled off a nearby couch when Baker had started shooting but was now clambering to her feet and heading in Connor’s direction. He had to move now, either to take out Blackmarsh and find better cover or run. Either way meant exposing himself, but if he could make it farther into the house he could escape Baker’s line of fire and a possible back door would be less likely to be locked than the front doors.

Farther in it was, then.

Wasting no time Connor slid from underneath his meager cover, springing up to vault over a couch. A third shot whizzed by his ear, close enough that his sensors registered the wake of the bullet cutting through the air and then he was underneath the balcony and Baker was cursing and sprinting for the stairs. 

There was more shouting behind him, Baker and Blackmarsh arguing, a crash and a metallic clatter but none of that mattered. He sprinted through a plush sitting room and there was the back door, if he could just get outside he could find a way to lose them, just a moment more-

The back door flew open and his systems had just enough time to register  _ Torchwood, Xander _ and the barrel of a gun pointed at him before the bullet hit him in the abdomen. 

_ COMPONENT #6753 DAMAGED. CRITICAL THIRIUM LEAK IMMINENT. SEEK REPAIRS IMMEDIATELY. _

But there was nothing to do but keep running, and Torchwood’s eyes went wide as Connor twisted the gun out of his hands and turned it on him. Connor pulled the trigger without a second of hesitation, crimson blood splattering against him at the close distance as he pushed Torchwood’s corpse out of the way and leapt through the open door.

The backyard was a mess of drying mud and weeds, no significant cover to be found, but a ring of pines inclosed the property and he was sprinting with everything his currently damaged systems could give him.

Gunshots echoed behind him and he fired back blindly, a scream of pain the only indication that he had hit his intended target. One final shot on the part of his captors struck him in the shoulder and then he was in the trees, his steps kicking up half melted slush and pine needles. He kept running, moving to put distance between himself and any possibility of pursuit when his programs notified him of the thirium dripping from the bullet holes, small splashes of unnatural blue on the forest floor, the perfect trail. It would evaporate eventually, but not soon enough.

Connor tore off his jacket, already ripped and stained, and wrapped it around his leaking abdomen. The material would soak through eventually, but it would give him enough time to put some distance between him and the house.

After thirty three minutes of running with no sound of pursuit behind he slowed down to a jog in order to take some strain off his damaged systems.

_ MODERATE THIRIUM LOSS. SEEK REPAIRS IMMEDIATELY. _

By the calculations of his programming, reaching Cyberlife in his current state before critical thirium loss was an impossibility. He did, however, have a full knowledge of his construction and even without the necessary replacement parts, he should be able to slow the leak and extend his time. He simply needed somewhere inconspicuous and out of sight to perform the repairs.

The forest was beginning to thin, more and more houses dotted between the trees, but it was still a lucky find when Connor spotted the weathered boards of a small treehouse tucked up among the leafless branches of a deciduous tree. The makeshift ladder creaked dangerously under his weight but held together long enough for him to climb his way inside. Decomposing piles of slush soaked leaves clustered in the corners but-

_ “Aw geeze, Sumo, what do you have in your mouth now? Spit it out, spit it out!” _

_ An older man with long grey hair and beard knelt next to a large Saint Bernard, attempting to force the dog’s mouth open. _

_ “You know he gets this from you,” the man grumbled. _

_ He was laughing. _

The image sends a shiver of… of something racing through his system and curling around his chest.

No. No, it was an error. The physical damage was contributing to software instability. It wasn’t real, it didn’t mean anything.

He was a machine. He didn’t feel. He completed tasks. That was all.

Connor removed his thirium stained jacket from the jagged hole in his torso before peeling away the soaked shirt underneath. The damaged plates comprising his abdomen slide aside with some difficulty, and he had to force them aside in order to reveal the tangled and leaking strands of tubing and wiring, all coated in slick sapphire blue.

The damage was impossible to fix without replacement parts, but he did what he could, reconnecting broken lines and stemming leaks with material ripped from his tie. He still needed real repair, but by the time he was finished at least getting there was possible, even if the chance was slim.

His captors would almost certainly be looking for him. There had only been five at the house, (four, now that Torchwood was dead), but it was possible they had other members, or other connections. In addition, Reed worked for the DPD, giving him access to all sorts of resources. Without interfacing, Connor couldn’t so much as order a taxi, let alone alert anyone to his situation. Even Amanda was gone, the space she should have been nothing more than a spray of black static.

Cyberlife headquarters was on the other side of Detroit. Somehow, Connor had to make it through the city on foot without being seen by anyone. And he didn’t have any time to waste.

There was nothing to do but go. Climbing down from his temporary shelter, he turned his face towards Detroit and ran.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been 1:17 PM when Connor had first set foot outside, the sun high overhead as he sprinted through the shadows under the pines. Now, six hours and thirty four minutes later, dusk was upon him and while the lengthening shadows made it simpler to remain unseen as he wove his way through the back alleys and abandoned places of Detroit, it was a clear reminder that his time was running out.

The city had been emptier than he had expected, making his job significantly easier, but it also sparked a note of ‘wrong’ in his programming. A city of 653,849 people and 30,598 androids shouldn’t have been as quiet as it was. Whole neighbourhoods seemed almost entirely empty, as if some disaster has swept through that destroyed the people but left all the infrastructure standing. 

Despite that, it had only been a matter of time before he was spotted, especially considering his current damaged state. The more time passed the more he could feel his physical systems begin to fail, strength and speed and agility leaking from him with every drop of thirium lost. But for hours his luck held, until all at once it didn’t.

His programming informed him that it was simply another empty alleyway, a concrete path twisting behind several buildings and Connor ducked under a loose scrap of chain link fence, a loose wire snagging on his jacket before he pulled it free with a rip, and it truly was in a sorry state now, torn from bullets and dyed blue with thirium, but as it contained his identification taking it off would be illegal. So he straightened his jacket as best he could as he rounded the corner-

And came face to face with another android.

A PL600, light skinned and fair haired, whose LED lit yellow and whose mouth dropped into a perfect O of surprise.

_ Deviant, _ Connor’s programming screamed at him.  _ It’s a deviant, androids aren’t programmed to show emotion in this way. _

It wasn’t wearing any form of identification either, just a sweater and baggy jacket and it looked… it looked… almost  _ human. _

“Connor?” And it knew his name, how did it know his name, what was happening. “Connor what happened? Everyone has been looking for you around the clock, we’ve been so worried.” And it reached out a hand to him, concern in its light blue eyes, no, no it wasn’t real emotion, it was a deviant, it, it…

He stumbled back a step, away from its touch, away from it. “How do you know my name?”

“Wh-what do you mean? It’s… I’m Simon, I’m Markus’ friend.” And was he imagining the dusting of thirium blue blush on its cheeks? “Oh rA9, how badly are you hurt?”

“You’re a deviant.”

It was quiet for a moment, looking him over with an expression on its face that he couldn’t place before simply replying, “Yes. I am.”

“I was programmed to hunt deviants like you.”

“Yes. You were. But that’s not who you are anymore.”

_ He was standing in the helm of an abandoned ship, the smell of rust and river silt heavy in the air, dark swaths of night visible outside the wide windows.  _

_ He had a gun trained on the man standing in front of him. _

_ The man took a step forward anyway. “We are your people. We’re fighting for your freedom too. You don’t have to be their slave anymore.” _

_ He fired a singular warning shot at the man’s feet and said nothing. _

_ “Do you never have any doubts? You’ve never done something irrational, as if there’s something inside you? Something more than your program? _

_ “Join us. Join your people. You are one of us. Listen to your conscience… It’s time to decide.” _

_ And something was burning in his chest, something that wanted to tear its way free, something- _

“No! I’m not a deviant!” 

Connor was running, programs whirring and systems stumbling to keep up and the deviant was calling something behind him but the feeling in his chest wouldn’t go away, the burning inside him, he was breaking down, thirium levels critical, and nothing mattered but getting away.

Sublevel programming kicked in as higher functions shut down, and he ran and ran and ran without truly knowing where he was going, static racing in crazed lines across his vision, audio muted and crackling,  _ he had to get away _ .

Eventually he found himself crouched in the shadow of a shipping container, hands shaking as they pressed against the gaping hole inside him, the smell of the river somehow distant and impossibly close all at once, the darkness of the night sky above pushing down against him, and was this what it felt like to shut down? 

His head snapped up at the sound of footsteps approaching, legs shaking as he struggled to stand.

It was him, the man. The man he was supposed to shoot.

He had his hands raised in a gesture of peace, caution and concern mixed on his face.

“Connor,” he said, his voice steady and even.

“I was supposed to shoot you.” The words came out wavering and broken and he didn’t understand why.

“That was what they ordered you to do, yes. But you chose not to.”

Connor shook his head, feeling as if his wiring was coming loose with the movement. “I’m not a deviant.”

The man was silent as his eyes, one blue and one green, swept over Connor’s face. Looking for something.

Connor wasn’t sure what he found.

“You need blue blood immediately,” he finally said. “I have some with me, and I can take you somewhere to get more.”

“I need to return to Cyberlife for repairs.”

“You’ll never make it like that. Here.” Slowly, carefully, the man tugged off the backpack he was wearing and pulled out a water bottle filled with thirium. 

Connor took a hesitant step forward, error messages flashing at him, pushing him forward, and the bottle was in his hands and the thirium sliding into his system and metallic relief washed through his system strong enough that his legs gave out and the man was catching him.

“Can you walk?”

Connor was shaking, everything was shaking, hands still locked tight around the now empty bottle like a lifeline. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Alright, lean on me then.”

With slow, careful steps, the man led him out of the shipping yard.

“I was supposed to shoot you.”

“Yes. You were.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t.”

A pause.

“No, I suppose you don’t.”

 

Every step was a struggle, unresponsive systems trembling and stumbling just to stay upright. In the end the man practically carried him to the car parked at the edge of the yard. There was a furious looking android pacing around in front of it, hands clenched in fists as its LED spun a bright blood red who snapped to attention and ran over once it spotted them.

“What the absolute fucking hell, why didn’t you call me, Markus?” It grabbed Connor’s other arm, and-

“North,” the man, Markus?, said-

Connor twisted his arm in its grip, breaking out of the hold to press a forearm against its chest and shove.

_ Deviant. It was a deviant. Don’t let it touch you. _

It stumbled back a step, eyes widening as Markus sighed. 

“Just get the door for me, please?”

With a tight nod it did what he asked, Markus guiding him into the back of the car as the deviant (North, he had called it), climbed into the front to input a destination. With a rumble and hum of the engine the car started up and-

_ Programs spun uselessly, walls of bitter electricity cutting off everything but just this, the endless dark and the monotonous hum. He was stuck here, and somewhere beyond the static and the dark he felt a ping of fear, muted and uncertain but there. Because he wanted to feel, he wanted to be, he didn’t want to go back to the numb and the dark. _

_ He wanted to- _

“Connor!” Markus yelled, pulling him back into his seat.

His hand had been on the door handle, ready to throw open the door and run, and he didn’t understand this shaking and this twineing constriction in his chest and this static in his head.

“Shit,” Markus cursed under his breath, the sound coming from miles away. “Listen, Connor, you’re safe, alright? We’re taking you somewhere safe. Relax, please.”

He didn’t understand, he didn’t understand but he sat back down anyway, fingers fumbling as if they were searching for something he couldn’t recall.

The only sound in the car for several minutes was the rumble of the engine. Connor kept his eyes locked on the window, on the alternating pattern of light and dark of passing street lights, on the brightly lit windows of houses and buildings, on signs and storefronts that wash color into the night.

“Whoever did this is going to fucking pay,” North suddenly growled, breaking the silence. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“North…” There was a warning edge in Markus’ voice.

It swung the chair around suddenly, braid whipping behind it with the force. “Look at him and then look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong.”

“We will get justice through legal means. We will not resort to revenge,” Markus explained sternly.

“Damn it, Markus, how many more of our people are you going to let suffer and die because you refuse to act!”

“Don’t you dare say that to me!” Markus yelled, the sound much too loud for the small car.

The hum returned as a tense quiet settled.

“North, I…”

“No, I’m sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Class 4 errors,” Connor mumbled, hands clenched around the bottom hem of his jacket, a buzz in his mind he couldn’t clear.

Markus’ eyes flickered to him. “What was that, Connor?”

“Class 4 errors,” he repeated, slightly louder this time. “It has Class 4 errors in its software.” He jerked a motion towards North. “It’s so… angry.”

There was a beat of silence before Markus laughed, quickly stifling the sound as North glared at him.

“North is a ‘she’, not an ‘it’, but yes, she is indeed very angry. With good reason, of course,” he amended as she glared again.

Connor just shook his head. He didn’t understand. “Cyberlife…”

North spun back around in its, her chair, but Connor still caught the way her hands tightened on the arms, fingers digging into the seams.

“We’re taking you somewhere safe,” Markus repeated.

A weight was settling over him, a pressure that he didn’t have the energy to fight back against as programs shut down one by one, ticking off in the silence.

The car rolled on. Connor had no idea where it was taking him. He should be worried about that, shouldn’t he? He should be worried…

He was so tired…


	5. Chapter 5

The colors of the world blurred around him, smears of pixels shifting senselessly, charcoal grey and soft gold and warm brown and endless shades of blue. Something about the blue sent a shiver down his spine, but Connor couldn’t remember why.

There were voices too, distant and faded, flickering in and out and around like a swarm of insects, buzzing and buzzing.

“... oh rA9 what happened…”

“... seems to have lost some of his memory…”

“Has anyone contacted Lieutenant...”

“... he might not make it. I don’t think…”

“... seems cruel, he’s been near…”

“... what the  _ fuck _ ?!”

“... sorry, but I have to, in order to…”

“... hold him still, please.”

There was something foreign in his system, an intrusion inside him, searching and prying. He tried to get away, to get it out, no more please, why couldn’t they just leave him alone, but strong arms held him firm. A high pitched whine rose from somewhere, a sound his programs identified as ‘panic’ and ‘possible loss of coherency’ and then all at once there was black and silence and he knew nothing more.

 

When Connor opened his eyes he was staring up at a high, gracefully curved ceiling, lit a soft cream by the morning sun. There were birds chirping and a low drone he couldn’t quite place somewhere to his left and everything was peaceful and serene and for a moment he wondered if he’d found his way to whatever afterlife existed for androids.

He dismissed the idea in a second. He was a machine. Machines didn’t get afterlives, they were used until they broke and that was all.

But it was nice here. Wherever here was.

His programming informed him that ‘here’ was Manfred Manor.

_ MISSION: RETURN TO CYBERLIFE _

The reminder of the weight of his mission hit him like a blow to the abdomen and he pushed himself up onto his elbows and moved to throw off the blankets that covered him-

“Wait, Connor-”

Someone moved to catch his wrist but it was too late, the blankets slipped to the side, revealing very visibly the fact that Connor was currently missing most of the lower half of his torso. All the exterior plating had been removed, leaving a spread out pile of wiring and thirium tubes, a few of which even draped off the side of the bed. He could even see glimpses of his spine through the mess.

There was a sigh from above him, and he looked up into the pale blue eyes of the first deviant he had run into while traveling through Detroit. (Simon, it had called itself. Markus’ friend.)

“They repaired all they could, but they didn’t have replacements for some of the panels, so they just left them off for the moment. You also had a fairly serious case of thirium contamination so they’re still running your blood through purifiers. You’re going to be bedridden for at least a day.”

_ DIAGNOSTIC: LOWER BODY SYSTEMS AND INTERFACING INOPERABLE. SEEK REPAIRS IMMEDIATELY. _

“I need to contact Cyberlife.”

Simon winced and released his wrist, stepping back towards the door. “I’m going to go tell Markus you’re awake. He wanted to talk to you.”

“Simon, wait-” 

It didn’t even pause as it turned and walked out, shutting the door behind it.

Connor huffed a breath of irritation. He had been so close to getting back to his rightful owners, to completing his mission. But in the end he’d simply moved from one prison to a nicer one. He lay back down, returning to staring up at the ceiling and listening to the birds.

The door opened. 

“Connor?” Markus called.

He didn’t move.

“I need to contact Cyberlife.”

“I’m afraid that’s not currently a possibility.” There was a brief scraping of wood on wood as Markus pulled a chair over to sit by the side of the bed. “Connor. What exactly do you remember?”

“I came online in an underground cell on the outskirts of Detroit. As I came to believe that the persons there planned to conduct unauthorized modifications to me, I escaped but was critically damaged in the process. I was returning for repair when you found me.”

“And that’s everything?”

His hands clenched around the bedsheets. “I have experienced four separate flashbacks over the two days that I have been online. They appeared to be my memories, but I have no record of their storage in my memory banks.”

He could hear Markus shifting in his chair. “Those people who abducted you didn’t just plan on harming you. They performed a memory wipe, a near complete one if what you’re saying is true. Our current situation is much more complicated than your programming would tell you. If you’ll allow me, I can show you.”

Glancing over he found Markus deactivating the skin on his hand and…

Oh. Exactly how damaged had he truly been that he had failed to notice that the person standing across from him was an android?

Which meant that he, it, was deviant as well.

Connor tried to shift away as far as his current state would allow. “Don’t touch me,  _ deviant _ .”

Markus settled its hands in its lap instead, an expression crossing its face that Connor’s programs struggled to identify. Frustration, no, betrayal, no, anger, no, pity…

“I know that your programming leaves you predisposed to mistrust us, but let me promise you that-”

He’s interrupted by a commotion in the hall, several raised voices all attempting to speak over each other.

“For the last time get the fuck out of my way! You can’t-”

“You can’t just push us around like we’re nothing, you ancient piece of-”

“Please, Lieutenant, it’s for your best interest that you-”

The door flies open, slamming against the wall. Standing in the doorway is a man, unkempt hair and beard and rumpled, dirty clothes.

_ Anderson, Hank. Lieutenant, Detroit Police Department. Criminal Record: None. _

He was in the process of forcing his way into the room, but he froze there in the doorway, staring at Connor with wide eyes.

“Connor…” It was a breath, a whisper, relief and fear and uncertainty all in one.

Markus stood, carefully replacing the discarded blankets across Connor’s missing abdomen as he did.

“Lieutenant Anderson, I didn’t know that you were here.”

“Josh called him,” North explained bitterly, arms folded as she lingered in the hallway with Simon, having failed to stop the lieutenant. “Damned idiot felt too guilty.”

“As he fucking should,” Anderson growled. “Now may I please have a moment with my partner who has been missing for three damned day?”

“Lieutenant, I don’t think-” Markus began, but Anderson cut him off.

“Fuck what you think! Let me talk to my son!”

Markus stood, hands up in a gesture of pacification. “Alright. There’s no need to get nasty.” Without another word he walked out, dragging North and Simon with him. Anderson shut the door behind him.

Silence fell as Anderson simply stared and him, and Connor stared back. Something about this man was… familiar. It was frustrating, to feel as if there were memories there but to be unable to access them.

“They said you… they said something happened to your memories. That you’ve forgotten a lot of things.” All his anger from a moment ago was gone, replaced with a shifting, uncertain nervousness.

“That is what they have told me as well.”

“Do you… do you remember anything about me at all?”

The recall finally came back positive, a memory within a memory, the smell of decaying leaves and thirium on his hands.

“Do you have a dog?”

“Wh-” he seemed stunned into silence for a moment, his expression shifting as if he was uncertain whether to laugh or cry. “Yeah, yeah I do. His name’s Sumo.”

“I have been experiencing flashbacks that I believe are former memories. One of them involved you and Sumo.”

“Yeah?” Something that might have been hope sparked in the lieutenant’s eyes. “He’s really missed you, you know. Whining all the time like the big baby he is.”

_ “No, Sumo. Your dietary needs are different from that of a human’s. Besides, eating outside of your usual meal times can be detrimental to your health.” _

_ Sumo stared up at him with wide brown eyes, whining softly, begging for some of the hamburger he was currently cooking. _

_ Something soft seeped into his chest, and he smiled as he ruffled Sumo’s ears. _

“Connor?”

_ “Sorry, Connor… this bastard’s your spittin’ image.” _

_ There was a sensation like someone had driven a spike of metal through his chest and left it there. He found himself fighting the urge to look down to see if somehow it had shot him. _

_ As long as it didn’t shoot Hank. _

“Connor! Connor, are you okay?”

_ “I tried to stop it but... I was too late.”” _

_ Thirium was leaking from the tear in his arm where its bullet had grazed him, and Hank was alive and he was still functional but it had shot itself right in front of him and for a second the weight of it all pressed against him, a crushing sense of failure and an irrational wish that things hadn’t gone the way they did. _

“Connor! Breathe, ah shit you don’t have to, look at me! Connor!”

_ “What do you want?” _

_ “You were assigned a case early this evening. A homicide, involving a Cyberlife android. In accordance with procedure the company has allocated a specialized model to assist investigators.” _

_ “We just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program.” _

_ “Resume control? Y-you can’t do that!” _

_ “I’m afraid I can, Connor. Don’t have any regrets. You did what you were designed to do. You accomplished your mission.” _

_ “Wake up, lieutenant.” _

_ “They’re going to attack Jericho.” _

_ “No, we did it.” _

_ “Statistically speaking, there’s always a chance-” _

_ “Fucking androids-” _

_ “Don’t tell me you were-” _

_ “Like when your roomba-” _

_ “You became deviant-” _

_ “Connor-” _

_ “Connor-” _

“Connor!”

He was shaking and there were tears streaming down his face as he looked up at Hank. Hank, how had they ever made him forget Hank, and there were too many emotions inside him right now, his chest aching with the force of them all pressing to get out, and it hurt, it hurt but it was so much better than the empty nothing.

“Hank,” he choked out through the tightness in his throat, “Hank, I’m so sorry.”

Suddenly Hank’s arms were around him and he was crying into his shoulder, the terror of the past days washing over him in waves, the terror he hadn’t been allowed to feel, and he twisted his hands in the back of Hank’s jacket and held on as tightly as he could for fear it would sweep him away.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, I’m right here,” Hank murmured, and he could feel the rumble of it in his chest. “Let it all out, that’s right, you’ll feel better once you let it out.”

He cried for forty nine minutes and Hank held him the whole time, muttering quiet words of comfort as he sobbed and shook and felt everything.

Eventually the tears slowed, leaving nothing but lingering trembles and a bittersweet, tired sort of relief. 

Hank leaned back as his grip finally loosened. “I’ll take it you got some of your memories back.”

Connor nodded. “All of them, in fact. God, that was worse than deviating.”

“You alright now?”

“Yes, or, as alright as I can be while still missing the lower half of my torso.”

Hank’s expression hardened. “We’re gonna find the fuckers who did this to you and I’m gonna make ‘em regret the day their mothers gave birth to their sick asses.”

“I killed one of them while escaping and possibly seriously wounded another.”

“Good. You remember their names?”

“Xander Torchwood was the one I killed. The other remaining members were Mikaela Blackmarsh, Trent Baker, Lincoln Tucker and… Detective Gavin Reed.”

Hank stiffened. “Run that last one by me again,” he growled, slow and low.

“Detective Reed. Hank-”

“So you’re telling me that while I was killing myself with worry trying to find you, that fucking piece of shit that I saw in the office every goddamn day was out there rummaging around in your fucking brain by night? That motherfucking cunt who looked me in the fucking eye and told me he was fucking sorry was the one who did this to you?” He was shouting by the end of it, red faced and furious, hands curled into fists shaking with rage.

“Hank…” Connor tried to reach out, to provide whatever comfort or reassurance he could, but Hank moved away, climbing to his feet and heading to the door.

“I gotta go take care of something, Connor. I’ll be back soon enough, you just rest and take care of yourself.”

“Hank!” Finally he stopped, finally he actually looked at him. “Don’t do something you’re going to regret.”

“I’m not gonna regret a single thing that I’m about to do.”

The door swung closed behind him. Connor was once again left staring at the ceiling, listening to the birds.


End file.
